


this mess was yours (your mess is mine)

by metaphasia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gender Confusion, Gender Related, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, LGBTQ Themes, Not Epilogue Compliant, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metaphasia/pseuds/metaphasia
Summary: Hermione knew Harry better than maybe anyone else, which was what made finding a birthday present for him so hard. She wanted to find something that reflected the depth of their friendship, that showed him how much she cared for him, loved him.The only thing she could think to give him, though, was her self.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 30
Kudos: 139





	1. Preparations

**Author's Note:**

> As a person, I am disgusted by JK Rowling's recent essay vilifying transgender people.  
> As a transgender woman, I am offended and disheartened by her actions.  
> But I am not prepared to give up Harry Potter because of her personal beliefs.  
> After all, it's not the first time I've had to separate my love for a beautiful piece of art from the horrible person who created it.  
> When I was in eighth grade, a friend of mine convinced me to read the novel Ender's Game. I have obsessive compulsive disorder, and it had gone undiagnosed to that point in time. I can still remember the moment a few weeks later, when I was sitting on the floor in my bedroom, tucked into the corner between the door and a bookcase, reading Xenocide, the third book in the series, as I reached the section where the character Fei-Tzu is revealed to have OCD, and then experiences a bout of symptoms; the same exact symptoms that I experienced regularly at the time. That moment was an epiphany for me, as I realized that I was not alone, that others struggled with the same condition I did. That knowledge that I was not the only one suffering in this way, helped survive through high school. I remain convinced that if I had had to go through high school undiagnosed, I would not still be alive today. That friend who convinced me to read the series, she saved my life.  
> It wasn't until years later, when the webcomic Something Positive ran the “Mike's Favorite Author” arc in March 2005 that I learned that Orson Scott Card, the author of the series, was actually a terrible human being, homophobic and bigoted. That same arc helped me accept the fact that I loved his works however, if for no other reason than that they saved my life, and, I hope, may one day save someone else in the same way.  
> When I was fourteen, I discovered Ranma ½, and that fandom in general, and one story in particular, helped me both discover that transgender was an identity that existed, and come to terms with my gender identity.  
> Harry Potter was an enormous part of my life for years, a formative influence on who I am today. I know not all trans individuals are able to separate this world from the hurtful and hateful things that Rowling has said over the years, and that is perfectly valid. However, my love of fandom has shaped my life in many ways, and I hope this story will serve, in some small way, to help fandom reclaim the world of Harry Potter.
> 
> This story is dedicated to Chris Jones, the author of that Ranma fanfic that saved my life for the second time those many years ago.

The tent had been quiet for hours, the two companions focused solely on their research. The only sounds were those of them just existing, breathing and pages turning. Harry groaned, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. The stress of the last few days, since Ron had left them, had both he and Hermione on edge. They had been channeling all that frustration and anger into their research and it had only been partially successful at defusing the tension.

“Ugh,” Harry groaned. “My eyes are killing me.”

A tentative smile started to show on Hermione's face, one of the first she had had since Ron left. “Just leave the glasses off then, you don't need them for reading. And I would know, I had those eyes for a little while.”

“Hmpf,” Harry grunted angrily.”Glad you can find the humor in that.”

“Harry?” Hermione asked, her head whipping up to face him, the smile slipping off her face as a concerned look appeared instead. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, Hermione,” he answered, annoyance bleeding through his voice.”It's fine.”

“Harry,” she repeated, and stood up, walking around the table to stand next to him. She hesitated for a moment, before dropping down to her knee, placing her hand on his arm. “You can't – When Ron – I need you to talk to me, okay? Ron just bottled everything up inside him and _left_ , and I can't lose you, I need you to tell me what's going on. Please, Harry, talk to me.”

“It's – It's complicated, Hermione,” Harry said, his voice soft but without the annoyance from before. He stared straight ahead, not looking at her.

“Well,” she told him. “You're not the one with the range of a teaspoon, Harry. You're allowed to feel more than one thing. Just, just walk me through it, okay?”

“Fine,” Harry said, and gathered his thoughts. “I'm mad, alright? I know we had to do that whole plan as a distraction, but I hated you all being inside my skin, getting to wear my body. I didn't want any of you to _see_ me, not all the way like that.”

“Is it,” Hermione asked. “Like some kind of power imbalance thing? That we saw you naked and you didn't see us? What, do you want me to take my clothes off right now or something?”

“No! I don't want -” Harry shouted, before cutting himself off, realizing what he was saying. “I mean, it's not that I think you're – but you're with Ron, even though he – No, that's not what I want – I mean you're beautiful, you know that, but -”

Hermione finally took mercy on him, and interrupted his stuttered denials. “It's alright, Harry, I know what you mean. That's not what you're asking for, because it's not what you really meant, not because you don't think I'm … desirable.” As she said the last word, there was a small upwards tilt to her lips as she couldn't help smirking ever so slightly. “So what did you mean? Why were you mad we got to see you, to be you?”

“Because!” Harry exploded. “I didn't want anyone to see me. I -” Harry trailed off, before summoning his inner Gryffindor, and saying the words he had never been able to say before, to give voice to the secrets he had been carrying, to Hermione who he both trusted more than anyone else in the world, and who he was more terrified of disappointing than anyone else. “I didn't want anyone to see my scars. To know that they were there. And all of you could have noticed that day.”

“Your scars?” Hermione asked him, her eyes tracking up to his forehead. “Do you mean – I don't remember you getting any from the Department of Mysteries, did you mean from the basilisk?” He shook his head in silent denial. “Then where from, Harry?”

“From the Dursleys,” he breathed out, and managed to lift up a corner of his shirt after only hesitating for a few moments, showing her a small line traced across his side.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, her voice pure sadness, but not an ounce of pity. “I didn't even notice. I don't think any of the others did either, and if they did, they probably just assumed they were from any of the countless adventures we've found ourselves stuck in. You don't – you don't have to worry that anyone knows, but even if they did, they're nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know I'm not -” Harry cut himself off, leaving the last word unvoiced. “When I first started at Hogwarts I was so - and I finally started to – But now we're here, and there's never any food and -”

Despite only saying half the words, Hermione knew exactly what he meant. It hadn't been hard to figure out over the years that the Dursleys had abused him, deprived him not only of a loving and caring home, but also of food. He had entered Hogwarts so small and scrawny and drastically underweight, and no one else might have noticed, but Hermione was smart and spent all her time with him, and couldn't  _not_ see what had happened to him. She had done all she could over the years, sending him food every summer, and it had finally started to make a difference, he had finally started to fill out, and now they were practically on starvation rations, camping in the woods, which was undoing all his growth. It was no wonder that he had issues with his appearance, that he saw himself as damaged and undesirable.

“You're not the only one who feels that way, Harry,” she told him when it was clear he wasn't going to speak any more. “I'm not some great catch, either; my hair is a disaster, and, well, they're fine _now_ but my teeth were hideous before I had Madam Pomfrey shrink them, and I'm not beautiful, my face isn't any great wonder, and my figure wasn't anything to write home about, and that's before I also started losing any weight I had out here.” As she spoke, all her old doubts and insecurities started to rise up, and what had started as a simple assessment had spiraled rapidly. She had always had issues with her own appearance, ever since she was young. It had been a common theme among the bullies when she was younger, and although she was proud of who she was, now, there were still the little niggling doubts in the back of her mind.

“Hermione,” Harry said, his tone unusual to her, until she placed it as awe. “You're wrong, you are beautiful. I don't know how you can't see it, but you are.”

“Well, same to you, Harry,” she told him, her mouth in a sad smile. “You may not see it, but you're not some hideous beast, either. Take my word for it, okay?”

They sat in silence for a moment, both of them processing their revelations, before she continued speaking. “As  _powerful_ as that was, it wasn't particularly  _complicated_ . There was more to what you were feeling, right, Harry?”

“It's, I guess it's a little what you said, that there was an imbalance,” he said. “But it was anger and jealousy and embarrassment, and that I was vulnerable and no one even saw that I wasn't okay with it, and people getting to see me like that should be something _private_ and I didn't have any choice, and ...”

He trailed off, finally losing steam, breathing hard as a sudden wave of exhaustion at saying all of that aloud took him over.

“I'll figure out a way to make it right, Harry,” Hermione promised him, her voice so soft it was barely audible. “Not right now, in the middle of this war, but afterwards, I will make things right. I swear.”

\---

Her promise had never really left the back of Hermione's mind, even during the height of the battle at Hogwarts. It had helped her persevere in the fighting, the knowledge that she had work left undone, that she had to survive to make things right for Harry.

After the fighting ended, however, she found herself busy with everything. Helping to rebuild Hogwarts so it could accept students again, helping to rebuild the Ministry and make a government that wasn't a puppet for Voldemort. Attending funerals for the dead, and trials for the living. Healing her physical injuries, and spending time with her friends and the people who had become her family to heal all of their emotional injuries. She agreed to aid in setting up the new administration, and she agreed to return to Hogwarts as both a student and an assistant professor – and, to her great surprise, Harry did as well. The weeks flew past before she realized it, and she didn't have time to think about her promise. And then came Harry's birthday.

\---

“So what _do_ you want this year, Harry?” Hermione asked him, as they sat around the dining table at the Burrow with the Ginny, the only other person who was awake that morning. The two of them were among the first to wake up most days, their internal clocks still functioning on minimal sleep, and had taken to eating breakfast early. “I just feel like it's not really a Quidditch supplies kind of year, you know?”

“Because he saved the country, you mean?” Ginny asked, and Hermione saw Harry's face start to turn red, with embarrassment or anger, or both. She knew how much it pained him when others referred to him as a savior, and stepped in to divert the conversation.

“No,” Hermione corrected quickly. “Because it was the most absurd year for all of us, we all came so close to dying so many times. I think this is going to be the year of big presents.”

“Honestly,” Harry put in. “You don't have to do anything major. More than anything I just want some quiet time, where we're not getting asked to do a dozen things by the Ministry and everyone, a chance to relax and be normal.”

Harry's words sparked something in her mind, but Hermione wasn't quite sure what it was; an idea, just sitting on the edge of her consciousness, like a seed waiting to bloom. She stood up from the table, picking up her dishes and carrying them over to the sink.

“Oh come on, Harry,” Ginny chided him gently. “That's completely against the spirit of Big Presents Year. Right, Hermione?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Hermione teased. “For Harry, just being normal might be the biggest ask of all.” She saw Harry start to blush at her words and quickly changed the topic. “What about you though Ginny, what are you thinking this year? A pony?” Ginny's face looked slightly confused at what she had named, but her words had the desired effect in making Harry smile.

“What would I even do with a pony?” Ginny asked, her voice confused, looking between the two of them before realizing by their faces it was a muggle reference and shrugging it off. “No, I'm more of a jewelry kind of girl,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table. Hermione rolled her eyes behind her back at Ginny, who had been getting progressively more obvious in her attempts to get back together with Harry as the summer wore on. “What about you, Hermione? And you're not allowed to say books for _your_ Big Present.”

“Not even if they're really expensive books?” Hermione asked, turning around to face the other two, a smirk on her face. “Fine.” Hermione stopped for a moment, and actually considered the question.

“Not so easy, is it, Hermione?” Harry asked, his voice teasing.

Hermione had most of the material possessions she  _needed_ , since her family's home hadn't been involved in the war. In terms of what she  _wanted_ , it was more  _im_ material. She wanted to get down to Australia and bring her parents back home, but they had already booked a flight to head down there later in the summer.

She wanted everyone else she cared about to be happy. She wanted … well, it wouldn't do to admit  _who_ she wanted. Really, the more she thought about it, the more that Harry's answer made sense. She missed the family vacations she had gone on with her parents, a chance to get away and relax.

And just like that, the thought that had been on the edge of her mind before now crystallized fully.

“You think of something, Hermione?” Ginny asked, and Hermione startled, as she realized she had been silent too long. Hermione shook her head in denial. “Oh, come on, I recognize that look on your face, you've got something.”

“No,” Hermione said. “Not a clue.” She cut herself off, making sure her face didn't show any more sign of what she had thought of; Harry had gotten annoyingly good at reading her over the years, a trait she normally appreciated, but one that made surprising him much harder.

\---

Hermione pushed herself to the breaking point over the next few weeks to get everything ready. On top of everything she was already doing to help the country, finding time for another project was daunting, especially since she had to keep her work on it secret from Harry. She was only partially successful on that front, since there was no way for her to hide that she was doing _something_ , not with them living under the same roof, and working together most days. Neither of them was yet comfortable being without the other for more than a day, their time on the run where they were always next to each other being an experience that was hard to break. Luckily, he had accepted her explanation that it was a surprise, and hadn't gone poking into her work, letting her get everything ready just in time.

His birthday itself was a bigger party, with everyone gathering to celebrate at the Burrow. When it came time for her to give him his present however, she finally revealed her plan, that she had arranged a getaway into the muggle world for the two of them the next weekend. He had laughed, deeply and truly, and given her a huge hug. She knew then that she had chosen the right gift, in actually finding a way to give him the normalcy he had asked for.


	2. Thursday

“Take this,” Hermione said, and handed Harry a black duffle bag. They had just entered the hotel suite they would be staying in a few moments earlier, and he had been about to go poking around, looking at what was there. He looked at her strangely at her insistence, but took the bag when she pushed it towards him again. “Take it, go into the bathroom, and lock the door. Don't come back out until you're done with everything.” Harry turned slowly and walked into the bathroom, still confused at what Hermione was playing at, but willing to go along with her orders.

“Oh, and Harry?” she said right as he reached the door. “Remember Cedric's advice, while you're in there.” The confusion he was feeling only mounted with every sentence that she spoke, and it must have been showing on his face, since her expression changed from a devilish smirk to a nervous, shy smile. “Relax, Harry. Just … do you trust me?” At her question, he nodded automatically. “Then don't worry about it. Just … this weekend is about being normal people for once in our lives. Have some fun with it.” And the smirk was back on her face, but this time it didn't worry Harry, it reassured him.

He gave a quirk of his eyebrows, and stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it, as Hermione had instructed. Laying it out on the counter, when he opened it he saw an envelope sitting on top of what appeared to be a pile of clothes. He reached in to pick the envelope up, but his finger brushed against something in the bag, something silky and lacy. Confused, he dug his hand in, taking hold of the object he had found, and pulled it out … and immediately blushed a brilliant crimson. It was a bra, red silk and transparent where the pattern stretched thin across the cups; it seemed to be nothing but frills, and was incredibly lacy. Had Hermione given him the wrong bag? But that thought was even scarier, the idea that this was  _her_ bag, that she had brought that with her intending to wear it herself, sent a shock of adrenaline pulsing through his system, a rush he quickly tamped down, afraid of letting what he felt show, letting it damage their friendship.

Harry quickly shoved the bra back into the bag, and was prepared to carry it back out to Hermione to switch with her, when he noticed the envelope again, and how it had his name calligraphied across the front. Frowning, he picked up the envelope, flipping it over, and pulling the contents inside out. It was a cheap birthday card, the kind that was in any corner shop, with “Happy Birthday” scrawled across the front in large bubble letters, over a backdrop of balloons. When he flipped it open, he saw the word “Congratulations” stretched across the center of the right side of the card, and a neat, tight script he had learned to recognize long ago filling the rest of the interior of the card.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy birthday! There's nowhere in the Wizarding World we can go where you can “be normal” like you asked for, which is why we're going completely magic free this weekend. For the next three days, we will be perfectly ordinary teens on holiday._

_Well, almost no magic. You'll find a bottle in the bag, containing a new variant of Polyjuice Potion I developed over the summer just for this very occasion. I used some stabilizing agents to allow multiple doses to supersaturate the bloodstream and trigger sequentially – the important part, is that it allows for Polyjuice to last longer than the normal hour. The amount I gave you in that bottle is enough for seventy two hours – the duration of our little vacation._

_You don't have to use it if you don't want to; it's entirely up to you whether or not you do. But I made you a promise a while back to make things right, and this is my attempt to do so. I can't change the fact that I've been in your body, violated your privacy, but I can even the scales. If you want, you can spend this vacation as me, instead of you. (If you're concerned about two of me wandering around, I have a plan for that as well.)_

_This is entirely your choice, but I hope that it doesn't make you feel uncomfortable, and that you like this part of your gift. Either way, we'll spend the entire weekend here relaxing._

_I know this has been the worst year for you, for both of us, and that things have been just as difficult, in entirely different ways, since the war ended, that everyone always wants something from you. The greatest gift in the world to me, the only thing I want from you, is your happiness and friendship. You've been my best friend since that Halloween seven years ago, and no matter what happens, you always will be._

_Love,_

_Your friend, Hermione_

Harry stared at the letter for a long time, reading it and rereading it. Just considering Hermione's plan, to have him spend the weekend in her body had stalled his brain out. Surely, she knew that if he spent the weekend as her, he would have to see everything, every part of her. He stared across the bathroom at the shower stall without sight.

_The shower stall_ .

It hit him,what Hermione had told him right before he came in here, Cedric's advice to him. The Hufflepuff had told him to take a bath, and if that was what Hermione was telling him, clearly she  _had_ given this careful thought. She knew exactly what she was offering, what it would entail, and was completely okay with it. More than just her desire to make things even from her previous jaunt in his body, she had specifically gone out of her way to develop a new version of Polyjuice, despite how busy they had all been in the last few months.

He knew that most guys would rather be caught dead than being a girl for a weekend, not just being one for a few hours out of some voyueristic desire but  _living_ as one for days, that this was something he could never tell any of the guys back in the dorms. But on the other hand, it was  _Hermione_ , and he had, secretly he thought, been attracted to her for years. He had never said anything, unwilling to risk their friendship, not when that friendship had been the only thing that kept him alive at times, not when he needed her to survive, not just physically, but emotionally as well. The thought of getting to see every inch of her, to spend time learning her body, was altogether too tempting.

That temptation itself almost pushed him into not taking the potion, since under other circumstances, it would have felt like an abuse of her trust and privacy. But wasn't that the point she was trying to make? That she felt the same way for having been in his body, and that it couldn't be taking advantage of her if she was freely offering it? She had all but spelled out, multiple times, that she knew exactly what could happen this weekend, and was fine with all of it.

And even more than that … her letter had said that it was his choice, that she wouldn't mind either way whether he took the potion or not. But he knew Hermione well, almost better than he knew himself, and she had put her heart and soul into this weekend, into making this potion. Not taking it, rejecting her gift, would be like rejecting her as well.

And that was one thing Harry could never do.

_Gryffindors forward_ , he thought to himself, and laughed. Doing the brave thing had served him well in the past seven years, and it was obvious to him which choice was braver. He reached into the bag, pulled out the potion bottle, uncorked it with his thumb and drained the entire thing in one long series of gulps.

\---

Hermione paced back and forth nervously. She hadn't been sure whether Harry would be interested in the second half of the present she had offered him, but she had heard the shower start running about five minutes after he went in, almost forty five minutes ago. The water had just turned off, and he would be coming back out any minute. It was silly, that she was still a bundle of nerves, when she was positive he had taken the potion, but there was still a chance he hadn't, that he had just decided to take a shower regardless. The butterflies in her stomach refused to accept anything less than the worst case scenario. And while his not taking the Polyjuice wouldn't be some awful thing, the _worst_ case was the very concept making him uncomfortable. Finally though, she heard the lock turn, and the door cracked open.

“Umm … Hermione?”

It was a strange experience, seeing yourself from the outside, hearing your voice come from another's mouth. You never looked or sounded the same as you thought you did in your head, and Hermione was realizing just how true that was now.

Harry stood awkwardly, moving his arms back and forth, crossing them across his chest before dropping them back down to hang by his sides, wringing his hands together in front of him before rubbing his arms, over and over, unsure how to stand. He was wearing the pair of black jeans she had placed in the bag, and a dark blue long sleeved henley. She had made sure to pack at least one outfit that Harry would feel more comfortable wearing right off the bat, sure he wouldn't want to put on a skirt or dress until he got more used to things. She looked back up to his face to see it twisted in doubt and worry, an expression she was used to seeing on Harry's reflected on her own face.

“Wow,” Hermione said, awe in her voice. “You look … beautiful.” At her words, Harry blushed prettily, a phrase she had never thought to herself before. “I mean, is that too narcissistic of me to say?”

Hermione had never thought herself exceptionally beautiful, but seeing herself from the outside was like looking in a funhouse mirror; all the traits she had hated about herself seemed to vanish, or be diminished somehow.

“Umm,” Harry stammered. “What am I supposed to do about the hair, though?” He gestured up to the unmanageable curls and kinks piled atop his head. She had been self-conscious about her hair for ages, but from the outside it didn't seem as bad. Lavender and Parvati had told her for years that it was actually really nice, but she had never believed them.

“Uhh, I usually just brush it out,” Hermione told him. “Maybe put it in a ponytail? Here, sit down over by the mirror, I'll grab a hairbrush and help you with it.” She quickly stalked over to the fourth bag she had packed, full of all the toiletries and random items they would both need for the weekend. She pulled out a hairbrush and twisted the bench in the little wardrobe section of the living area around so that she could sit behind Harry. Slowly, she started working her way through his hair, making sure to go slow and work out all the kinks.

"So," Hermione said, as she brushed through the waves of hair in front of her. She saw Harry's eyes flutter closed at the sensation. "What do you want to do for dinner tonight?"  
"Uhhm," moaned Harry, and several more seconds passed as he was lost in the feelings before he realized he had been asked a question. "I don't know if I'm up for going somewhere fancy - can we just do something simple?"  
"Sure," Hermione told her doppleganger. "There's an Indian place down the street I saw when we came in, we can just pick up some takeaway?"  
"Sounds good," Harry said, and Hermione finished her brushing.  
She stood up and walked over to where the three bags she had brought were, and realized there was one more decision to make. "So, Harry," she said, and turned around, just barely catching a wince on his face. "What's wrong?" she asked, her prior train of thought derailed.  
"It's nothing," the former boy said, but Hermione reached over and grabbed his hands. He sighed, and looked at her. "It's just that ... it feels weird, using my name in this body. I know some girls are called Harriet, but …"

Hermione nodded at his answer. She had actually given that concern quite a bit of thought since her plan had first crystallized in her mind. "What about Jane?” she asked him, her voice nervous. At her suggestion, he froze, stilling his nervous motions, before beaming back at her and nodding. “Actually, that kind of ties into what I was going to ask you originally," she said, and pointed back and forth between their chests. "A pair of identical twins will definitely stand out, and might make blending in and being normal harder. Especially if we're both girls, boys will be all over us - Just look how they're always asking after Parvati and Padma." Harry winced at her description, and looked somewhat fearful at the possibilities of being hit on.  
"You said," he started, then hooked a thumb over his shoulder towards the bathroom. "You wrote in your letter that you had an idea about that?"  
"Yes, but I wanted to make sure you knew what all your options are," she told him. "Because the other choice than us being twins for the weekend, is if we're not. I," she swallowed nervously, standing up and walking away from him, unsure how he would take what she was about to tell him. "I prepared a second dose of Polyjuice. Seventy one hours, instead. And I bound it to your hair."  
She saw his eyes widen in sudden understanding. "So we can be twins, or we can be us, just in each other's places."  
Hermione dropped her eyes, and stood, waiting for his answer. It had seemed an elegant solution to her when she had first come up with the idea, a brilliant plan. But now, her worry overcame her, concern that neither of those options was appealing to Harry, that she had overstepped and made things awkward between the two of them. She heard the soft rustle of cloth however, as he stood up and walked over to her, cradling her face in one of his hands. She gasped in shock, as she could count on one hand the number of times that Harry initiated contact between them, and never before for anything so casual.  
"Do it," he said, and then she saw a small smile appear on his face. "Besides, we're trying to make things even, right? That'll balance it out."  
"You don't have to say that," Hermione said, concern still in her voice. "This isn't about balancing things out - well, I mean, it is, for me, but you don't have to say yes because you feel obligated or, or, like you think I'm expecting you to; whatever you choose, whatever you want, I'm happy with both options."  
"No, I'm sure," Harry said, and nodded firmly.  
"Alright," she answered, and picked up the bag she had prepared with male clothes, shoving the final bag with a second female wardrobe into the back of the closet. "Just give me a few minutes to get ready and we can head over."  
"Oh," she said, as she reached the bathroom door, turning with a smile on her face. "Did you leave your glasses in here? Because I'll need them in a minute."  
Harry laughed, a light bubbling sound, and nodded in the affirmative.  
"Alright then, see you on the other side."


	3. Friday

As they walked up the steps into the little diner they had seen the day before, Harry tugged on the hem of the shirt he was wearing, as it kept rolling up on itself and seemed determined to migrate upwards. All of his clothes now felt slightly off, from how his shirt kept riding up and how the jeans he was wearing were much tighter than he was used to, to the novel sensation of the bra strap running across his back, a constant reminder of its presence.

They had continued their tradition of waking up early, and decided to head out to find breakfast. The restaurant was fairly empty between the early hour and the fact that it was still a weekday, and they were shown to a booth immediately. As they scanned the menus, Harry got excited at the chance to eat cuisine again that wasn't made to the magical world's eccentric standards. When the waiter came by to ask for their drink orders, they both answered simultaneously.

"Orange juice."

He looked over and met Hermione's eyes, shining at him from behind his glasses, and knew she had been thinking the same thing he had, that she shared his excitement for a return to the world they had both known growing up, and that had slipped further and further through their fingers as the years wore on and the magical world consumed more of their time and freedom. He felt a smile, slight but secretive, slip onto his lips, mirrored on the face he had worn most of his life.

"Coming right up," the waiter chuckled, and walked away to get their juices.

Harry ducked back down to study the menu, trying to determine what he wanted to order.

"You two make a cute couple," he heard, and startled to find the waiter was staring at them. No, the waiter was staring at _him_ specifically. He saw Hermione freeze up across the table and start to mutter a denial, but he swiftly kicked her shin under the table before she could.

"Thanks," Harry said, and gave the waiter the smile that he had developed for dealing with employees of the Ministry. He quickly turned a glare on Hermione, trying to remind her of her promise to watch out for him while he was in her body. The waiter seemed to detect her almost-denial, and his interest in Harry renewed at the possibility.

"So, I haven't seen you two around town before," he continued, not noticing Harry's enthusiasm was false. "Did you just move here or?" He asked, trailing off to let him fill in the blank.

"No, we're just here for the weekend, on vacation," Hermione answered, finally finding her voice.

"That's too bad," the waiter said, and then turned to face Harry, and the conspiratorial expression on his face filled him with dread. "It's certainly a great place to visit, but we could do with some more beautiful women our age around here."

"Ah, thanks," Harry said, and felt his face start to heat up in embarrassment.

"Oh, I didn't catch your name?" he asked, and Harry, despite never being on the receiving end of this sort of flirtation, could instantly tell what he was after.

"Oh," Harry answered. "I'm Jane, and this is James. My _boyfriend_." Hopefully, the waiter would finally take a hint. When he gave the false name that Hermione had suggested, he had immediately twigged to the fact that it was her middle name, and just reflexively used his own to refer to her, the symmetry making perfect sense to him. Her blinding smile confused him, until he realized that she hadn't explained why she had picked it, and hadn't been expecting him to follow her reasoning.

After they had placed their orders, they had made small talk about what they planned to do that weekend. Hermione had naturally done extensive research on the area around the little seaside town they were staying in. She had come up with a whole list of potential activities for them to do, but Harry vetoed most of them, just interested in doing the most normal things possible. She had just succeeded in talking him into going to the beach later in the weekend when their food had arrived. The waiter once again made eyes at Harry, although restrained from more actively flirting, like he had been before.

When he walked away from their table again, they both started to eat quickly, having eagerly anticipated the different food, neither focused on talking anymore. After a short while however, Harry noticed that Hermione was staring at him.

“What?” he paused in his meal, asking her.

“You didn't take my advice, did you,” she told him, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“What do you mean? From yesterday?” Harry asked, and squirmed slightly in his seat. “Of course I did, you must have heard me in the shower, didn't you?”

“Harry,” she said automatically, then winced and corrected herself. “Jane. We both know I wasn't telling you to get clean when I told you that.”

“Oh, honestly, _James_ ,” he said, getting slightly exasperated at her pushing. “You took the potion same as me, you know just how unpleasant an experience it is. Are you really telling me you were in the mood to do anything afterwards?”

She nodded in acknowledgement of his point. “Fair enough. But that's not what was really holding you back, was it?”

“Why are you pushing this?” Harry asked her, his voice getting desperate.

“Because you're holding back,” she told him, and leaned forward, dropping her voice to make sure no one could overhear. “This weekend is supposed to be about relaxing, being normal and letting go of everything, and you can't do that if you're still so afraid of your new body, you jump at the slightest touch, if people just looking at you makes you squirm. I think we both know that what's under your clothes has nothing to do with gender. Being a girl is _so much more_ than that, it's clothes, and dealing with boys like that waiter, and what society expects of you, and …” she trailed off from the tangent she had gotten on, slashing her hand across her in a gesture of dismissal.

“There's a stigma to it, isn't there,” she asked him, her voice going contemplative. “Being feminine. You're worried that if you embrace it, it will make you less of a guy, aren't you?” Harry had been silent as she spoke, but now he froze, her words cutting right across what he had been feeling. “Getting yourself off, _orgasming_ ,” she said, and smiled slightly at his evident embarrassment at the topic. “It isn't going to be some panacea to get you to think of yourself as a girl. But you've drawn a line in your mind that you're afraid to cross because you're afraid it will make you less masculine, and it _will_ serve to push you so far over that line that you'll be able to finally relax, the way this weekend was intended to.” She stopped then, looking down at her plate, and idly pushed what was left of her food around with her fork. “Please,” she said, turning her eyes back up at him, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose as she did so. They framed her eyes, and forced him to see the sincerity in them. “When we go back to the hotel today. Would you do it for me? Just masturbate and _relax_?”

Well. Harry didn't know how he could say no, not when she put it like that.

\---

Harry stared at himself in the mirror. No, herself. Hermione was right. She always was. If they were going to spend the next few days as the opposite gender, they could either be awkward and nervous about it, or accept it for what it was. The fact that he was in Hermione's body instead of some random woman certainly made it more complicated, but it also simplified it in some ways. Out of everyone, she was the one person he truly trusted, and knew trusted him as well. While he certainly had a crush on her, and would have felt guilty taking advantage of her body under any other circumstances, she had specifically given him permission, had even _asked_ him to, because, well he wasn't sure there was a word for exactly why.

The swap she had proposed may have started as an attempt to balance the scales between them, but it wasn't just because she felt guilt, he knew, he _knew_ , it was because she didn't want anything to stand between them, just like he did. It had evolved beyond that though, into something more about trust. If it had been anyone but her to suggest it, he never would have felt comfortable letting them in his body for such an extended period of time, not even Ginny or Ron, none of his friends. And it wasn't because he was attracted to Hermione that he was willing to let her take his body, but because, if she was going to explore being a boy, he would want to be right there for her, and in some weird way, letting her be _him_ was the most support he could offer her. He was sure that she felt the same way, that it was her wanting him to feel comfortable, like she was by his side, that had had her offer it in the first place.

And if he was going to accept being a girl for a few days, he would have to do what she had told him to, and explore this body. _Fully_.

First step then, stop thinking of himself as a boy. Harry stared at _her_ new face in the mirror, and repeated _her_ new name in a quiet voice, trying to make it feel more natural. “Jane. Jane. Ja-ha-hane. Hello, my name is Jane. Jane. Pleased to meet you, I'm Jane. Jane. Jane. Jane.”

Okay, that was working. _She_ let _her_ eyes fall downward from where they were trapped in themselves in the mirror, and dragged them down _her_ chest. _She_ lifted her hand and ran it back and forth, tracing the tip of _her_ middle finger across _her_ breasts. They were so sensitive, and _she_ had accidentally forgotten they were there several times in the past day, accidentally hitting them when _she_ moved to gesture at something or pick something up. For now, though, _her_ fingers were just a tease, a promise of what could be more.

Tentatively, _she_ reached down, crossing _her_ arms to grasp _her_ shirt from each side, and took a deep breath. Then, in one smooth motion, _she_ peeled it up, over _her_ head, flipping it inside out in the process. The hotel room's cold air immediately chilled _her_ skin, making _her_ break out in goosebumps all over _her_ upper body.

 _She_ finally reached out, taking hold of _her_ breasts, squeezing them, feeling the nerve endings come alive under them. Next, _she_ unbuckled her pants, skinning them down over _her_ legs. _She_ traced _her_ hands over _her_ thighs, as they were so much more sensitive, and _she_ quickly slipped _her_ underwear off and went back to lay on the bed, finally ready to really touch _herself_.

But something was wrong. No matter how much _she_ tried, _she_ couldn't _get_ herself over the edge into orgasm. It was like there was some sort of wall, some sort of block that was stopping _her_ from reaching _her_ climax.

Finally, _she_ gave up, exhausted.

“How are you doing in there?” _she_ heard through the door.

“Fine,” _she_ gritted out, through _her_ teeth.

“You sure don't sound fine,” rang out the distinctly teasing tone. _Jane_ glared at the door, and was about to start over to it, to give Hermione a piece of _her_ mind, but then she continued through the door. “You have to want it.”

“You think I don't _want_ it?” _she_ growled, anger rising inside _her_.

“Not like that,” _she_ heard _her_ old voice say, and it turned contemplative. “It's like the Patronus charm.”

“What?” _she_ asked, confused.

“You can't just _think_ it, you have to _want_ it,” and _she_ could imagine Hermione tapping her head and then her heart with each word, and it clicked.

Suddenly, everything clicked in her mind. Of all the spells she knew, the Patronus was the one she knew the best. The charm wasn't hard because it was difficult to cast, it was hard because you had to fill it with good memories, with positive emotions. But she had been so in her own head, so focused on trying to find a way to block everything else out of her life for a little while, she hadn't been able to really concentrate on what was important. Hermione's message was clear. It wasn't just physical stimulation that would get her there.

“Lay back,” she heard the voice instruct her through the door, right as she was about to try again, and she rolled her eyes. “No, seriously, just lay back. Close your eyes.”

Jane let herself follow the instructions. Clearly, Hermione knew what felt good for this body, so she was content to listen to her; besides, doing so had never steered her wrong. She felt the world narrow down around her as she did so, her other senses working overtime. The soft breeze of the air conditioning blowing over her skin started goosebumps prickling all over her. The smooth sheets rubbing against her silky skin as she slid back and forth. Her breathing, slow and measured, echoing in her ears. It all combined to make her feel _alive_ , in a way she hadn't before, more sensitive to everything around her.

“Let yourself relax.”

And the sound of Hermione's voice, now deeper and richer, but still carrying the words of her best friend. It carried through her now like an electric current, her words somehow carrying right down into the primal part of her brain, her voice alone ratcheting her arousal up another few notches.

When she had been training Occlumency, she had never been able to 'clear her mind', always too focused to let things go. But now, she let her worries and her fears drain away from her, settling her restless mind. She stopped thinking about the outside world, all of the stress and anxiety that had been her near constant companions for years. She stopped worrying about the fact that she was now in a girl's body, and let go of her inhibitions. She gave herself freedom to just enjoy herself, without concern for what it would mean.

“Start slow. Focus on the rest of your body. Your lips, your breasts, your thighs. Take things one step at a time. Do what feels right, listen to your body.”

Finally, she lifted her hand from where it lay next to her side, and began gently tracing it over her flesh, ever so softly at first. As she ringed her finger around her lips, she felt them gradually grow more sensitive, swelling under her ministrations, until eventually a brief surge of lightning raced down from them.

She shifted her hands downwards, tracing her fingers across the swell of her breasts. When the corner of her hand brushed against her nipple for the first time, she felt her breath hitch in her throat at it. It was still soft, and bent under her touch, but she turned her focus onto it, letting it fall between her fingers, slowly grasping it and feeling it stiffen at her touch. She lifted her other hand then, in order to play with both her nipples at once. She pinched them in between her fingers, rolling them back and forth, and felt her core tighten in response. Her back arched suddenly, as tension she hadn't even realized she was carrying fled from her body and her muscles relaxed. She felt warmth spread all through her body, and she felt her skin flush with the heat.

“Just focus on the sensation. Don't think about anything else, just your touch.”

She moved her hands downward, to her legs, and felt her nipples tingle with sensitivity as she left them unattended. Her fingers started to trace up and down the outside of her thighs, before she worked up her nerve to spread her palms over her legs and start exploring their inner side. The smoothness of her skin was a novel sensation to her, and made it so much easier to glide her hands across them, amplifying every touch. She was burning up now, and it felt as if every nerve ending she had was turned on, sending signals of pleasure, overwhelming her under their collective weight.

“When you're ready, when you can't hold back anymore, only then move on. Don't worry about working your fingers inside, everything you need is right on the surface.”

She finally worked her fingers upwards from where they still lingered on her thighs, and cautiously skated them around the outside of her new opening, rubbing her lips. They sent a surge of pleasure through her, more intense than anything she had yet felt, and she shuddered under the pleasure. She brought her index finger up further still, her hand shaking with nerves and pleasure, to find her clit. From what she had overheard in the dorms, it would be the most sensitive part of her, and the way every other part of that she touched had sparks dancing in front of her eyes, the very thought of it being even more so left her trembling. She tapped it once, as gently as she could, and was rewarded by a spike of pure bliss flooding through her system. She began patting it rapidly, softly still, but insistently, and the pleasure spread through her in warm waves. She pinched it ever so carefully, and felt her entire body thrum as if she was being electrocuted. Her pleasure had built up to a peak, cresting and cresting upwards each time she thought it couldn't go any higher, and she knew that she was close to orgasming, that one extra stimulus would push her over the edge.

“Keep your eyes closed. Let yourself go. Whatever turns you on, no matter what it is, let yourself feel it. The pleasure you're feeling, don't worry about where it's coming from. It's not coming from you. The hands touching you, they're not your hands.”

And then, vividly, she saw _him_ , Hermione, James, her best friend in her old body, swim up in front of her as if he was really in the room with her. Her hands faded from her mind, replaced by his hands, and now he was the one getting her off, in deed and not just with his words. She felt surrounded by his comforting presence, and the fantasy overwhelmed her, her orgasm washing over her. Her consciousness retreated, and she lost any sense of what was happening around her beneath the white curtain of pleasure that descended over her.

Gradually, she felt her awareness come back to her, and stretched, luxuriously, as she uncoiled from the bed, standing up. She crossed the bedroom, back over to where she had dropped her clothes on the floor, considering whether she wanted to put them back on now, or take a shower first, when she heard a gentle tapping as Hermione rapped her fingers on the door.

“You doing alright?” she heard through the door, and felt a smile grace her lips, safe in the knowledge that no one could see it.

“Yeah,” she answered, her voice quiet, and blushed at the husky tone it had taken. The thought that had pushed her over the edge, Hermione being the one to help her, wearing the skin she was now, popped back into her mind, and the blush intensified, giving her the courage to say what she did next. “Your turn to go all the way, now.”

\---

"There's something I wanted to ask you," James said, looking over at where Jane was sprawled across the couch, watching TV. After the excitement earlier in the day, they had both decided to spend a few hours lounging around the suite, not doing anything. He had taken the opportunity to finally read a book just for pleasure, a novel and not anything to do with magic, and it had helped him finally start to get into the holiday mindset. He had just remembered a stray thought he had been worrying over for a while, and thought that now, when there was no one else around to interrupt their conversation, was finally the chance to talk to her about it.

She twisted her head around to stare at him. "What is it?" she asked.

"Back in fifth year, you said that you were planning on being an Auror," he answered. "Are you still thinking that's what you want to do?"

"I mean, I hadn't really thought much about it," she said, slowly. "But I guess, yeah. Why?"

"I'm just concerned," he said, choosing his words carefully. "At the time, we were dealing with ... well, with everything, and it seemed like the fighting would never end, that the war would last years and years. At least it felt that way to me. And I thought maybe you said you wanted to be an Auror because it seemed like that to you also, that you thought you would be fighting anyway?"

"I guess?" she said, now sitting upright to give him her full attention. She reached one of her hands up to her hair, tucking a few stray strands behind her ear, a nervous habit she had developed in the past day. Considering she had never had hair longer than a few inches before, it made sense that she was constantly playing with it. "I mean, you're right, it definitely made sense to get as much training as I could with how determined Riddle seemed to get me, personally, but that was even before we found the prophecy, and I learned what I had to – that I had to kill him."

"That makes sense," James said, still speaking slowly and carefully, afraid to spook his long time best friend. "But even then, there were plenty of expectations placed on you, whether it was who your parents were, or that first Halloween when Riddle attacked you, and even the way Riddle kidnapped you for his rebirth ceremony, everyone seemed to look to you. And ... I worry that being an Auror isn't what you want to do, but what you think you have to do. That it's what people expect you to do."

"I," Jane started to say before she stopped, squirming uncomfortably where she was sitting. "I don't know? Why are you asking me this?"

"Because I care about you," he said, walking over to the couch, sitting next to her, and taking her hands in his, squeezing them gently in reassurance. "I think a lot of the things you've been doing are because you think it's expected of you, and not because it's what you want. And I'm worried that you're not going to be happy if you do things for other people, instead of yourself."

"It's just a job, though," she started to say, but James shook his head violently, negating her statement.

"It's not though," he said. "It's what you're going to be doing with most of your waking hours. And it's not just the job, I'm worried that you're making other decisions based on people's expectations too, that you'll get back together -" He cut himself off, before he too clearly revealed the depth of affection for his best friend he had kept hidden for years.

As he stared straight into her eyes, he heard her breathing hitch, and her body tense up slightly where they were touching. She averted her eyes, her face blushing slightly.

"Just promise me," he finished speaking. "That now that the war is over, you'll do things because you want to do them, not because other people want you to, or expect you to."

"I will," she said, her voice barely audible it was so soft.

"Good," James said, and pitched his voice to somewhere happier, to try and lighten the mood that had suddenly grown intense around them. "And maybe this weekend will help you figure out what you do want."

"It is helping," she said, and twisted around back towards the television, neither realizing she had dragged his hand with her, as they settled in to watch.


	4. Saturday

"Come on," Jane urged her companion, "Hurry!"

"Relax," he laughed, resisting her attempts to drag him along faster. "There's always a ton of previews, we've got plenty of time." Although she had been reluctant to do a lot of the activities that James had laid out yesterday at breakfast, when he had mentioned that there was a cinema in town, she had instantly jumped at the suggestion.

"I just," she started to say, before deciding it wasn't worth sharing.

"Hey," he said, his eyebrows furrowing. "What's wrong?"

She looked around nervously, making sure no one else was in earshot. "I've never been to see a film before." She saw James about to question her, before his mouth snapped shut. The wince on his face told her that he had forgotten about her upbringing and how the Dursleys' would never have taken her out for anything fun if they could avoid it.

"In that case, let's hurry," he said instead, and started rushing alongside her as they dashed for the cinema.

"What can I get for you?" the clerk asked, his attention fully on James. Jane felt herself startle slightly at being ignored, still not used to how most people defaulted to her now male best friend, instead of her now female self.

"Two for Zorro?" he asked, and quickly paid, before they hurried inside. As they entered, she was stunned by the light and sound overwhelming the lobby, but James wrapped an arm around her, guiding her towards a concession line.

"We don't have time," she tried to tell him, but he just smiled down at her.

"If this is your first time, we're going to make sure it's perfect," he said, and she felt herself flush slightly. Hermione's body kept _reacting_ to things, things that had never affected Harry, but seemed to now have profound effects on Jane. The way that Hermione had been constantly hugging him, and touching him, had had noticeable effects on him, but more because she was one of the only people he did touch. None of the Dursleys had ever hugged him, or shown him any physical affection at all. While Hermione's constant light touches had had the sort of effect they would on any teenage boy, that arousal had been far outweighed by his gratitude and the sheer elation at just having physical contact with someone else. She had once said he was touch starved, and the phrase had stuck with him through the years, even as she seemed dead set on singlehandedly feeding his starvation herself.

But now, she wasn't sure if it was the new mix of hormones running through her veins overwhelming her, or some quirk of Hermione's body specifically or girls in general, or if it was just that they finally, finally no longer had the war looming over their heads, but this weekend, even the casual sort of touches that had become standard for them were driving her mad.

They reached the front of the line, and James removed his arm from around her to pay for their snacks, a bowl of popcorn that she felt was excessively large, and a box of candy, before pointing her deeper into the building, where another clerk took their tickets and sent them in the direction of where the film was playing. Seconds after they entered the room however, the lights dimmed, and James quickened his pace to lead them to an empty pair of seats near the middle of the room.

She was quickly overwhelmed again by the sheer scale of the screen, and the volume that the sounds were playing at. It took James tapping her on the arm several times for her to notice that he was holding the bowl of popcorn out to her, and she reached in to take a handful before getting distracted again. The film passed all too quickly, and it wasn't until halfway through, when the two leads shared an exceptionally intense duel, and then an equally exceptionally passionate kiss on screen, and she felt her skin tingling all over with energy, that she got pulled out of how deeply into the story she had been. As she noticed her surroundings for the first time in over an hour, she realized that James had his arm around her shoulder, and she had migrated towards the side of the seat closer to him. She tensed up at the sudden awareness of their position, before deciding that, like everything else this weekend, she should just roll with it. Instead of protesting, she burrowed closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder, and sighed at the feeling of contentment that spread through her at the excuse for their extended physical contact. She studiously focused back on the movie, ignoring the way that her skin kept tingling and warmed all over.

\---

James looked up from the book he was reading, to see Jane pacing back and forth across the other end of the room. He pushed his glasses back up his nose from where they had fallen down an hour ago. He'd almost forgotten they were there, having finally started to get used to their weight on his face, but now that he needed to focus on something farther away than the length of his arm, he was reminded of their presence again.

“Everything alright,” he asked, and watched Jane startle at his voice, as if she hadn't been aware he had noticed her. It was impossible not to, though; sometimes it felt as if all the time they spent at Hogwarts and on the run had given them both a sixth sense where the other was concerned, able to find each other even in the most difficult conditions.

“Fine,” she answered, but her voice betrayed her worry.

“Hey, what's going on,” James said, sliding a bookmark into the novel he was reading, freeing his finger from where it was trapped between the pages. He tossed it back in the corner of the couch and stood up, moving closer to her. “You can tell me, whatever it is.”

Whatever her response was though, James wasn't sure, since she only mumbled something under her breath, her words incomprehensible. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn't catch that.”

“I wanted to ask you something,” she said, and while he had no idea what she _had_ said, he was sure it wasn't that. “A favor.”  
“Anything,” he said, concerned now, since whatever she wanted, she felt he might not be willing to do it for her. He had thought they were long past the point where any favor one of them asked for the other to do might be said no to.

“Iwannagiveyouablowjob,” she said in a rush, the words soft and blending together. James only blinked, sure he had misheard her somehow.

“Umm,” he said. “I still didn't catch that. Can you – can you say it again, one more time?” He moved closer, placing his hand on her upper arm for moral support. She huffed in frustration, turning her face up to meet his eyes for the first time in the conversation, and then spoke again.

“I said,” she said, enunciating carefully and loudly, so there could be no mistake. “I want to give you a blowjob.”

He blinked again, confusion racing through his mind, and tried, desperately, not to think of the image her words conjured up that was already making him feel the rush of blood as his cock started to stiffen in his pants.

“What?” he asked, stalling for time, his voice cracking as he spoke. “I mean, why do you want to do that?”

“Back when we were dating, back in sixth year,” she began, her eyes once again dropping away. “Ginny, she ...” She trailed off, and Hermione felt her blood run cold. There wasn't anything wrong with Ginny giving Harry a blowjob, and if she was who her best friend wanted to be with, she was happy for him. But she had always thought, in a small corner of her mind, that she might have a chance with him, that he might have seen her as more than just his best friend, and had hoped that future might come to pass. She breathed in, hard, forcing the spiral her brain had started to go down out of her mind, and focused back on her friend, to see what she had to say.

“She?” he prompted her, and something of his thought process must have shown through in his words, because Jane reacted, her eyes flying back up, and her head shaking in instant denial.

“No!” she all but shouted, then dropped her voice lower, leaning in closer, as if afraid someone else might overhear them from the middle of their otherwise empty room. “No, she never -. We kissed, a lot, and … We never really did anything else, I wasn't _ready_ for anything more, but she wanted to, she kept pushing me to … well, to do _that_.” And while she had been able to say the word before, now, her voice halting every few words, she could only point to her mouth at the reference to oral sex. “But I wasn't ready, I didn't want – I don't know, I just thought it was too much, that it was too fast, and then the end of the year happened, and – Well, you know what happened afterwards.”

James nodded at her words, relief seeping through his veins, hope that that forbidden future he had tucked away might still be possible.

“So,” he said, trying not to let that hope bleed through too much, to not make Harry too uncomfortable. “So, if you weren't comfortable with the idea _then_ , then why do you want to do this now?”

“Because,” she said, pursing her lips and staring off to gather her thoughts. Watching her toy with her lower lip though just brought the entire situation back to the forefront of his mind, made him acutely aware of what she had been suggesting. “When she was suggesting it, it felt like, I don't know, like what you were saying about me yesterday, like it wasn't what she wanted, but what she thought was expected of her? That she thought it was something she _had_ to do to keep me, and she kept trying to tell me how it was something she _wanted_ , but I couldn't see how, and – I just thought, maybe, if I gave you a blowjob, I could see why she wanted to?” She looked at him for confirmation, but he could only shrug at the question she hadn't really asked.

“I don't know why she would want to either,” he said. “Ron and I, we never got that far. I never wanted to either, I always thought it was … demeaning, somehow. Putting yourself on your knees for someone, I never felt comfortable with the idea of giving one. I mean, _maybe_ if he had considered reciprocity, but he never -” He cut himself off, realizing just what he was revealing.

“You don't have to reciprocate,” she said, her face blushing slightly as well. “That's not what this is about. I just think, if I'm ever going to be able to get one later, after this weekend is over, I need to do this now, so I know what it's like from the other side.”

“You're sure?” he asked, squeezing her arm in reassurance, and raising his eyebrows to make sure his question was as clear as he could. She just nodded rapidly in response, and he let his arm fall away down to his side. They stood there, staring into each other's eyes for a moment that dragged on. “So, how do you want to do this?” At his question, she startled slightly, the blush that had never really left her skin since this conversation started, returning in full bloom.

“Umm, right here, I guess?” she asked, looking around them. At those words, she dropped to her knees, moving somewhat awkwardly. She reached up, her hands shaking slightly, as she unbuckled his belt, and unzipped his pants, letting them hang loosely on his hips. Her hand reached inside, up under his shirt, tracing her way up to rest on his stomach. Even though her movements had been stilted and unsure, they had more than been effective, and he was already feeling himself swell up in his boxers.

She brought her other hand up, reaching into the vee at the front of his pants, tracing along the edge of the elastic holding his boxers up, her fingers tentative, searching back and forth along the edge. Then she brought both hands to grab the hem of his shirt, working their way around him, tugging it loose from where it was tucked into the back of his pants still.

“Shirt off,” she told him, her voice husky, and he instantly complied, lifting his arms to pull it off over his head. When it was clear, she hesitated for a moment, before bracing her hands on his upper thighs, leaning forward to kiss his stomach, right over his belly button. He groaned at the sensation, and she looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since she had gone to her knees, and he saw a small smirk on her face at the involuntary noise he had made. He could only hold the eye contact for a few moments before he leaned his head backward at the intensity of it. He felt her lips against his stomach again, maybe an inch below where they had landed the first time, and then she continued, kissing her way down until her mouth found the edge of his underwear.

She pulled back then, reaching forward with her hand, which brushed against the front of his crotch, and he felt the contact lance through him. His cock was starting to strain against the fabric, twisting uncomfortably by how it had been positioned before it started growing erect. But despite the very definite effect her actions had , it hadn't been her goal, as she grabbed his pants, pulling them down around his thighs before abandoning them, her hands coming back up, resting against his boxers, the tips of her fingers just brushing the bare skin of his waist.

She started in on him again with her mouth, darting her tongue out to taste him. The sudden flash of contact made him rock back on his heels. She reached forward to cover the gap between them, not giving him time to recover, pulling him back towards her. She began using her tongue in earnest then, licking his stomach, and she occasionally switched to plant her mouth on his abs and suck on them. It was a mess of different sensations, and he groaned at her unrelenting assault.

She was just far enough away from him that he could still make out most of the details of her face. Seeing her attentive expression, her singleminded focus on her task, made his cock stiffen further, swelling inside his boxers.

He felt her fingertips tense against the grooves over his hips, but, rather than use her hands to tease him, she slipped the edges of her fingers under his waistband, and pulled his boxers down, revealing his cock at last. He could see her eyes widen as she stared at it.

“It looks a lot bigger from this angle,” she said, glancing up at him, her pupils blown wide. “Than it ever did from up there.” Her words stirred an irrational sense of pride in him, the smug satisfaction of someone finding him attractive, despite the fact that it wasn't even his body.

She followed up those words though by reaching her hand forward, gently scraping her fingers along his length, and he groaned again at the sudden contact. She grasped him around the base of his cock, tilting it upwards, and he could see on her face the moment she decided to lean in and press a kiss against the underside.

“Jane,” he groaned out at her action, and felt his hands clench and unclench rapidly, as he tried to focus on anything other than her attentions. She started working her way back up to the tip, occasionally licking or kissing along his length. Finally, he could feel her tongue brush against the crown, and she took him into her mouth at last. She started sucking, slowly at first, shallowly. This treatment seemed to last forever, as she gradually made her way deeper, gradually took more of him into her mouth with each pass.

Soon, she seemed to feel more comfortable with her progress, and started to tease him with her delicate fingers, gently cupping his scrotum. He could feel her tongue licking erratic curves along the bottom of his shaft as she worked her way up and down. The variety of different sensations started to erode at his self control, and it was all he could do not to explode all over her at her ministrations.

He could feel her hair brushing against his thighs, their wild curls dancing over his skin as she stopped her forward motion near the base of his cock, pausing for a moment before she started backing out. His stiffness had long since started to turn painful with how swollen he had become, a desperate need to climax built up inside him. He knew he wouldn't last much longer, that one last little push would send him over the edge.

On her next descent, she flicked her eyes up to find his, staring at him as she sucked her way deeper. The affection for him and satisfaction in her skill tipped him over the edge. “Coming,” he managed to gasp out, and tried to pull back out of her mouth, but her hands reached around to grab his thighs from behind, stopping him from retreating fully, the tip of his cock still buried in her mouth.

He couldn't pull out then, not even if he had wanted to, his muscles tensing as his orgasm washed over him. He felt himself start to cum, shooting out one spurt after another.

He felt drained, his orgasm leaving him spent physically, as if he had run a marathon. He collapsed, boneless and exhausted, backwards, only half landing on the couch, and slumped onto the floor, leaning against it.

It took him a few moments to recover, his breathing slowly evening out. When he looked up, he saw Jane still kneeling right where she had been, not having moved, her fingers reaching up to her face to wipe her lips clean, and he groaned as his cock twitched a few last times, the sight almost painful in his current state.

“So how was it?” he asked, finally finding the ability to speak once more.

“It was … nice,” she said, and he felt his eyebrows raise. “I didn't think I would feel anything, but I did, it made me … warm inside. Not like what I did yesterday, not quite, but knowing I had that effect on you, that I was able to make you feel that good, and being that close to you, I felt – something. It definitely felt like the beginning of something.” She stopped speaking then, shifting forward to sit on the floor and lean against the couch next to him. “How was it for you?” she asked shyly, and he could hear her embarrassment and nervousness about his answer. He reached a hand over and patted her on the leg in gentle reassurance.

“It was,” he said, and stopped, his words failing him for once. “It was amazing. More than satisfactory,” he teased, turning to face her, his lips turned up in a smirk. She blushed then, ducking her face down, her hair falling in front of it and partially obscuring her from him. When he had told her those words years ago, neither of them had ever expected that _that_ was where she would ever be kissing. “How good it felt on this end, I think I'm going to be a lot more open to the idea in the future,” he said, and she looked back up at him. “Well, assuming whoever I'm with is willing to reciprocate.”

\---

They walked to the restaurant, and Jane made sure to keep a hand out near James' arm, ready to grab on if she lost her balance. James had finally talked her into wearing her current outfit, and she was exceedingly nervous about it. The heels she was wearing were short enough that she was fine as long as she focused on walking, didn't hit any cracks or try to go too fast, but it was reassuring to have a safety net nearby in case something did happen. Focusing on her steps also kept her from paying too much attention to her dress, which was by far the most revealing thing she had worn yet. It wasn't especially provocative, but she had only been wearing pants and sticking to more covering t-shirts and henleys the last day, so the difference in sensations was especially noticeable.

They approached the hostess, and when she looked up from her stand, she stared straight at James. It hadn't really been noticeable at first, but she had been gradually becoming more and more aware of how people were treating them differently when they were in each other's bodies.

Back in the magical world, he was always the center of attention any time they were in public, but that was purely because of the way the rest of magical society either worshipped him or despised him. He had noticed how Hermione was looked down on at other times, but it was usually for her heritage. He had thought that here, in the muggle world, things would be different. And they had been, just not in the way she was expecting. Rather than not being the focus of attention due to her personal history, she now seemed to be ignored for no other reason than that, of the two of them, she was the girl.

She was lost in her thoughts as they walked to the table, and barely noticed when James held her chair out for her. She had started to walk around the table to take the other seat before realizing what he was doing, and had quickly reversed her course to sit down in the chair he was holding. As he pushed her chair in, she felt her skin flush at the still unfamiliar gesture of chivalry.

They made the usual chatter, placing their orders, and then Jane settled back into silence, her train of thought continuing on.

"What are you thinking about?" James asked, and her eyes tracked back up to his from where they had wandered to stare off into nothing. She considered saying nothing, or telling him something lighter instead, but chose to go with the truth.

"First year, kind of," she said, and saw his eyes start flicking back and forth as he tried to figure out what exactly she was thinking of. "When I first entered the magical world, I thought it was going to be so much better. Shopping with Hagrid on my birthday, spending the next month just reading my books over and over, and then the train ride, and the boats across the Lake, everything just felt so ..."

"Magical?" he suggested, a wry twist to his mouth. "I know what you mean. When I first learned about everything, I was so excited at the new opportunities it all meant. You remember how I was barely able to contain myself on the train ride. Fixing your glasses." He tapped the bridge of the frames over his nose, where cellotape had once bound the broken halves of those glasses together, before Hermione Granger had repaired them for the first time, and in doing so, repaired something inside her, and become a part of her life ever since.

"Yeah," she said, her voice light with the remembrance. "Everything seemed so ... bright, and new. You know how bad things got with the Dursleys, you're really the only one who does know just how bad. I thought that it would be different there, that things would be better, that it would be a fresh start. I don't know if that makes any sense."

"It makes perfect sense," he agreed, leaning forward slightly and pitching his voice lower. "You know it wasn't easy for me either, before. I was picked on and bullied for years. You were ... you're not just my best friend, you were my first friend."

She reached out across the table at the pained admission, and gripped his hand, squeezing tightly, not sure which of the two of them she was trying to reassure more.

"It's strange, though," she continued. "Now, I felt the same way when you suggested this trip, that going to the muggle world would be a chance for a fresh start, that things would be better here than they were there."

"Are they?" James asked, and she could hear the careful tone in his words, and tightened the pressure on his hand for a moment in reassurance.

"They are," she said, her voice lilting upwards teasingly before turning back serious. "Well, mostly, at any rate. It's certainly ... different, being a woman here, I didn't even realize. But no complaints about this birthday present. No, the problem is, what if it is better here? Could I give all my friends and magic up, at least mostly, to live back in this half of the world? Am I a terrible person if I do, when so many other people don't have magic, just never have the option to live in the magical world? And, and if I were to live here, what would even be the point of everything that we went through, the whole war, everyone who died, everything, if I just give it up?" She felt her eyes start to water as she kept talking, unable to stop herself from speaking.

"Hey," he said, and brought his other hand up to catch her free hand, squeezing both at once. "You're not a terrible person, no matter what you choose. After everything you've been through, everything we both went through, it makes complete sense that you want to get away. I've thought about the same option a few times over the past few months myself. And whatever you choose, you won't lose me. You remember when we were in the Forest of Dean? What I offered you?"

"Stay there, grow old?" she said, quoting the words from what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"I meant it then," James said, his voice filled with intent, and Jane felt her eyes begin to water at his sincerity. "And the offer is always there. I don't care whether you want to live muggle, or magical, or go to another country, or become a hermit in the forest. I'll be right by your side no matter what."

Those words broke her resolve, and tears began to fall in earnest. Ever since the change at the start of this weekend, she had been feeling, not more emotional, but that her emotions were now bubbling near the surface, harder to push down and deny. She had long ago pushed her self-control beyond any sort of rational limit, between Umbridge's tortures and Snape's lessons and Riddle's attempts to worm inside Harry's mind. Now though, it seemed as if the slightest thing sent her off the edge. She saw James' face filled with uncertainty, unsure what to do to comfort her.

"Now you know how I felt," she joked, her voice still slightly watery. "When we were back in the tent."

He scoffed. "I wasn't that bad."

"Oh, you were worse," she told him, and her voice started to gain back confidence. "Days you spent, crying up a jag, and I didn't have the faintest clue what to do."

"You did pretty well in the end, getting me dancing," he told her, and then tilted his head, listening to the ambient noise of the restaurant around them, the soft susurrus of a dozen conversations and the quiet music. "Does that mean I should take you dancing now, then?"

Jane blushed harder than she had all night, but a motion behind James caught her eye, drawing her still battle trained reflexes into focusing on the figure walking towards them. " Too bad, looks like the food's here."

"So after dinner, you're saying?" James said, as the waiter started to place their plates in front of them, and Jane only gave a wordless hum of acknowledgement, trying to slow her heart from how it had rocketed out of control. She quickly picked up her glass of water, trying to desperately cool down the heat that was spreading through her system, not sure she could deny what it meant anymore.


	5. Sunday

Sunday had come, and Jane couldn't put off the beach trip James had gotten her to promise going on any longer. He had pushed her into the bathroom to change, and she dug through the bag of clothes that Hermione had prepared for whichever of them wound up in this body this weekend. As he pushed more and more clothes out of the way, he wasn't sure she even had actually packed a swimsuit.

“I'm not seeing any cozzie in here,” she sing-songed through the door. “Guess that means the trip is cancelled.”

“Side pocket,” she heard called through the door. She opened the correct flap, digging through, and then froze.

She had expected to find a one piece suit, but what she pulled out of that pocket was a bikini. And not a particularly large one either. The dress she had worn last night had been by far the most revealing thing she had worn in public, but if she wore _this_ she would blow right past that marker.

“Uhhh, Hermione?” she asked through the door, so distracted that she didn't realize she had used the wrong name. “I'm not sure I'm looking in the right section, can you describe what it looks like to me?” With any luck, she would hear a very different series of adjectives than were running through her mind.

“It's a white bikini?” she heard through the door again, and the sound of footsteps as the other occupant of the suite started to move towards where she was frozen. “I don't know, it's got ties to hold it in place? How much more description do you need?”

“No, that's,” she started to say, before taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down. “I just was expecting something a little different.”

“What, like a thong?” he teased her, and she heard a giggling come through the door, unnatural sounding in his deeper voice.

“No, just,” she started. “I thought you might have packed a one piece? Is this, uh, new?”

“Well, that particular suit is. It's been a while since I've been away on holiday, and I've grown since the last time. But it's the same style I always used to wear.”

She stood there, toying with the small scrap of fabric in her hands, trying not to think about just what those words meant. As the weekend had progressed, it had become more and more clear to her just how far gone she was over her best friend. The speech he had given her two days ago about not living for what was expected of her, but for what she _wanted_ had resonated with her, and consumed her thoughts. She had been giving a lot of thought to her future, and just what it was that she wanted, and she was unsure of so much. The one thing that she was sure on was just how much she wanted to be with Hermione after this all was over, and the idea of _this_ being the sort of thing she would wear on holidays was driving her mad.

There was a gentle rapping on the door, James clearly standing just on the other side of it now.

“Hey, you remember the rule for this weekend, right?” he asked. “We're here to relax. If you're not comfortable with this, we don't have to go.”

“No, it's fine,” she told him. And it was. She knew what she wanted, _who_ she wanted, and she was going to fulfill the promise she had made, of fighting for what she wanted. And while wearing this was certainly going to push her boundaries in all sorts of ways, she _was_ comfortable with that, secure in the knowledge that James would be right there next to her the whole time. She might be changing who she was now, but knowing that her best friend was changing right with her made her stomach flutter with butterflies.

Also, if seeing her in this would drive James as mad with lust as she knew that seeing Hermione wearing it would have driven her mad when she was Harry, so much the better.

\---

It was well into afternoon, and they were both lounging around the hotel suite. They had been silent for a few hours, since they had returned from the beach. The atmosphere had grown heavy around them with the knowledge that this was their last night away, that in the morning they would be returning to their real lives.

Finally, both of them seemed to decide at the same time that they didn't want to waste what little time they had left, and they both found their way over to the couch at the same time.

“I'm going to miss this,” Jane said, her voice low.

“You don't have to,” James said, turning to stare at her. “You can live in the muggle world if you want. Or visit anytime.”

“I know,” she told him. “And I'm sure I will. But that wasn't what I meant.” She took a deep breath, finally ready to say the words that she had never had the nerve to say as Harry, that she hadn't spoken all weekend. But the emotions she felt were too strong, and she knew that if she didn't give voice to them now, when she found it so much easier to admit what she felt, that she never would after they changed back. “That's not the part I'm going to really miss,” she said. “I'm going to miss this, you and me. I'm going to miss us.”

“We'll still be friends,” James said, quizzically. “That's not going to change.”

_Gryffindors forward._

“I don't want to be friends, though,” she told him. “I want _this_ , what we have now. I want us to be together. In a relationship.” The words were out there, and she couldn't take them back anymore, and it felt so freeing, like she was a hundred feet in the air and turned her broomstick off. She was in free fall now, her insides weightless, and she didn't know what would come next, whether she would pull out of her dive before she bottomed out, but the hard part was done now, and what would be, would be. Of all the things that she had learned this weekend, having spent it in this body, it was _this_ , the courage to admit her feelings and not keep them bottled up inside her anymore that she was truly grateful for.

She squeezed her eyes shut, not willing to look and see what his response would be just yet, content to let the fall overtake her for just a little longer.

She heard James suck in a gasping breath. “Really?” he asked, and she could hear the awe in his voice, and her eyes flew open to stare at him, and she _knew_ , just from his face that he felt the same way.

“Yes,” she told him, nodding, not able to get anything else out through the words that were tangled up in themselves in a massive lump in the back of her throat.

“Are you,” he said and paused, rephrasing. “Is that Harry saying that, or Jane?” And with those words, when she looked at him, she didn't see James anymore, didn't see her old body, she only saw Hermione in that moment, she only saw her best friend.

“We're the same person,” he said, and felt the veil that he had erected between his behavior the past few days and his old self drift away. “It's still me in here.”

“But you never said anything like this before,” Hermione told him, and when he went to object, she raised her hand to stop him. “No, you didn't, Harry, be honest. These last few days have been a rollercoaster, and not just because we've actually been spending all our time with people who know what rollercoasters even are. You've been dealing with an entirely new set of hormones, an entirely different biology, and there's no telling how that's affecting you,” and she paused, dropping her eyes before finishing her confession. “Not when that body has always been attracted to this one, not when I've had a crush on you forever, and you might just be feeling _that_.”

“Hermione,” he said, and, when she didn't look at him, he reached out and lifted her chin up to face him. “You weren't the only one with a crush, you know. I think I've felt that way, at least a part of me, forever. Definitely since the Yule Ball. Maybe since third year? I don't even know. But I never let it out, I was too afraid to lose you. I couldn't lose you, you were always there for me, and I needed that. So I pushed it to the back of my mind, content to have you as just a friend. And then, I also started crushing on Cho, and then Ginny, and it was so much easier to be with them. You were right, before, when you said that I was going along with expectations, because being with them was just easier. Because I didn't know what would happen next, but I knew there was a good chance I wouldn't make it out of this without dying. Hell, I _did_ die. And I was just too afraid of having anything real before, with that looming over my head, and I wasn't ready. I still don't know if I am, I – you _know_ how living with the Dursleys messed me up, better than I do, probably. I don't think I _could_ have had anything real, before, even if I wanted it.”

She paused, taking a deep shuddering breath, and reached up to wipe away the tears that had started to form during her speech. “But I'm done with living my life by other people's expectations. Dumbledore told us that we had to choose between what was right and what was easy, and I thought I knew what it meant, I thought I chose the right course by standing and fighting against Riddle. But it wasn't until this weekend, with everything we've done, and everything you've told me, that I realized I was still choosing the easy path.”

She stopped then, finally, taking another deep breath. She had let it all out, everything she felt, said it all, and now she felt hollow inside, like it had left a void behind inside her at sharing it all. There wasn't anything else she could say now, she would just have to wait to see what he did.

He took off his glasses, carefully placing them on the end table behind him, and she finally saw that his eyes were filled with tears as well when he reached up to brush them away. “I want you too,” he said. “And I don't care what you are still dealing with from the Dursleys, or from Riddle, or from anything. I don't care if it's hard, because being with you will be worth it.”

With those words, he lunged forward, catching her head with his hands, and planting his lips on hers, kissing her passionately. Her hands came up to grab his forearms, stabilizing them slightly. They sat there, with her body bent backwards under him, their tongues meeting in between their mouths as the kiss deepened. It became too much though, and the pleasure from tasting him caused her to lose her balance, sending them toppling backwards, with him laying on top of her on the sofa. He groaned then, and pulled back, sitting back upright.

“We better stop,” he told her, and she blinked, stars still dancing around her sight.

“What? Why?” she asked him, a note of needy desperation threading through her voice.

“Because,” he told her, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “If we don't stop now, I don't know that I'll be able to stop before we change back.”

“Oh, we're not waiting to change back,” she told him, and watched his eyes fly open wide, his pupils dilating. “There's no way I'm waiting, not anymore.” And then the commanding tone fell away from her voice, as she suddenly realized what she was saying. “Unless you want to stop?”

“There's nothing I want less,” he told her. “But do you realize what you're saying? What you're suggesting?”

She laughed at his question, a bright, bubbly giggle tearing up past her lips before she could stop it. “It's _you_. None of the other details matter,” she told him, completely sincere, before her voice turned teasing. “Besides, we've come this far. Don't you want to see what it's like on this side?”

At her words, he bent forward again, his hands landing on the arm rest above her, leaning down to kiss her again. They went on making out for several minutes, before he pulled back just enough to mutter “Bed” against her lips. When they stood up however, she suddenly felt the weight of what they were about to do come crashing down on her. She fell silent as they made their way back towards the bedroom. She was glad it was Hermione she was with for her first time, but at the same time, it terrified her. The only person she had felt truly comfortable letting see her with her walls down, letting see her be vulnerable, had been Hermione, for as long as she could remember. But that same trust and intimacy that they shared also meant that Hermione was the only one she was truly afraid of disappointing, of letting down.

She felt like she was back in First Year, about to go to her first flying lesson, terrified that she would be awful at it. Her anxiety had left her a nervous wreck.

When they made it to the bedroom, she turned to face James and shyly reached down to lift her shirt off over her head. He leaned in close, his hands ghosting over her shoulders and down her sides. She shivered at his touch, still a bundle of nerves.

His hands made their way behind her back, twisting her bra, fumbling around trying to pop the clasp loose. He growled, a frown making its way onto his face as he struggled with the mechanism.

“Seriously, you can't get it off?” she asked him, exasperated. “You do this every day!”

“I'm not used to doing it from this angle,” he told her defensively.

And just like that, the tension that had built up between them like a palpable thing, heavy in the air, seemed to defuse then, as they both started laughing. The trust and faith that she had in her best friend outweighed her nervousness, and she remembered once again just who she was with.

“Hey you,” she said shyly, reaching a hand out to press it against his face, the light stubble that had started to grow there after three days rough against her palm. He leaned into her hand, matching her smile, and wrapped his arms around her bare waist, pulling her close to him. They stayed like that for a few moments, relaxing into each other. She felt the heat and weight of him against her body, comforting her the way his touch always had, and she shuddered, tension fleeing her body.

Finally, she took a step back and reached her hands behind herself, pulling the hooks on her bra loose, letting it dangle loosely from her body. He reached out again, this time catching his fingers in the straps running over her shoulders, and worked it down her arms. She felt her breath catch in her throat, and let her arms hang down to allow him to take it off her fully, resisting the sudden urge to cover her breasts. It was ridiculous to be embarrassed, to be worried that he might not like what he saw, when it wasn't even her body, it was his.

But that didn't change the thrum of nerves that tore through her.

His awed expression as he let it fall to the floor made her nerve endings come alive with an entirely different sensation than the anxiety she had been feeling, sparks of electricity shooting through her.

That moment was a turning point, as they both quickly stripped the remainder of their clothes off.

Just as she reached down to pull her panties off, however, he leaned forward, his lips landing on her neck, his stubble scraping oh so delightfully against her skin as he sucked on her pulse point. She let out a breathy moan against his ear and was rewarded with one of his hands landing on her waist, his grip tight.

She stepped back, allowing herself to fall backwards onto the bed, and stared up at his nearly naked form, only his glasses and boxers still covering him. He reached a hand up, reverently lifting his glasses from his face and carefully folding the legs closed, placing them on the dresser next to him. She smiled at his actions, a warmth spreading through her at his tenderness, at how he always went out of his way to take care of her, making sure that when she needed them later, those glasses would be safe and unbroken.

He stepped forward then, leaning down to plant a kiss near her ankle, slowly working his way up her legs, alternately kissing each as he went.

When he reached her upper thighs, he paused, his attentions lingering there, his mouth latching on and his stubble rasping across her skin as he licked his way across her legs. She felt the warmth inside her start to glow hotter, and a wetness start to build up between her legs.

His hands slid around behind her, palming her ass, kneading gently, and she gasped at the feel of his hands on her sensitive skin. The noise drew his attention, and he looked up at her, meeting her eyes with a knowing smirk on his lips.

She realized he was using his knowledge of her body to his advantage, making sure that she enjoyed herself fully by lavishing his attention on every extra sensitive spot her body had.

Two could play at that game, however, and she crooked her finger at him, gesturing him to come up towards her.

He shifted his leg forward, his knee bending it in half under him, and used it to smoothly slide up her body, catching her lips in a passionate kiss, pulling on her lower lip with his teeth. He left one hand down on her ass, still squeezing it softly, but slid the other up to palm her breast, teasing her nipple. The combination of pleasure from all over her body sent a surge running through her, and she couldn't help but moan at his actions.

She decided to take the offensive, however, reaching her hand around to the back of his neck, scratching gently back and forth at the spot she knew would leave him tingling. Her other hand darted down to his knee, running her fingertips over the back of that sensitive spot as well. She smiled in delight as he groaned at her actions.

She felt the desire building up inside her, the same way it had when she had masturbated before, and she shifted her hands over to his boxers, hooking the waistband with her thumbs, and sliding them down towards his knees. She then slid her leg in between their bodies, catching them with her big toe to slide them the rest of the way off, and he took advantage of their new position to press his hip against her crotch. The sudden pressure on her swollen lips and clit had her breath hitch and made her start breathing harder.

“Please,” she gasped out, the fire in her veins burning so brightly she had trouble focusing on just speaking, not sure what she was asking for.

Whatever she wanted, however, it wasn't for him to lift off of her, shifting his hands to either side of her to hold himself up, and she whimpered at the sudden loss of contact.

“You're sure?” he asked her then, his voice sounding as desperate as she felt.

“It's you,” she panted out, before her voice broke off into a series of whines. She realized what effect her words were having on him as she felt his stiff cock bouncing against her stomach, just above her vagina, twitching in time with her breathing.

That brief contact was enough to remind her of the lightning dancing through her veins. “Need, you,” she was able to bite out between shallow breaths.

He bent forward for a moment, pressing his lips down on hers in a kiss, gentle and full of trust, before it turned passionate under their combined desperate need.

The next thing she felt was his cock between her lips, slowly sliding inside her in a wholly alien sensation, feeling a fullness that had her gasping as she felt herself stretch to accommodate him. She whimpered, and he began to thrust forward, a slow, rolling motion with his hips that sent him back and forth inside her.

This was what she had been desperately seeking, without even realizing it. The feeling of completeness as his body joined with hers, the culmination of years of friendship, and trust.

She knew, in that moment, that she loved him, that what she had felt for years towards her best friend _was_ love, even if she had never been able to describe it before, never having experienced it before.

The epiphany pushed her over the edge, sending her spiralling rapidly towards her climax, and he must have sensed how close she was, as his thrusts sped up towards his own peak, and his hand found her clit and …

She felt the whimpers she'd been uttering get ripped out of her mouth by a raw _scream_ as her voice shouted out the ecstasy she was feeling and …

She saw sparks dance across her vision, her heartbeat so fast it felt like it would flutter out of her chest like a hummingbird, barely able to breathe and …

She felt her hand _clench_ , gripping his ass so tightly she knew it would leave a bruise where her fingers gripped for days, but not caring, and ...

She felt the fire and sparks ripple across her body, as if all her nerve endings had been turned _on_ at once, and …

And that moment of perfect pleasure soon had her fall over the edge into a feeling of bliss and contentment, as he collapsed on the bed, half on top of her, and half next to her. She was utterly spent, barely able to pat him on the chest several times, before sleep started to drift forward, and claim her consciousness.


	6. Monday (Epilogue)

James woke up slowly, and, as his consciousness returned, realized that they had shifted back some time after they fell asleep, having both been too exhausted after their earlier activities and collapsing into bed incredibly early. He breathed in, held it for a moment, and she released the breath.

"Hey you," Hermione said, as she opened her eyes and realized that Harry was awake as well, staring at her from inches away.

"Hey Hermione," he said, his voice trembling. She realized in that moment, just how nervous he was, that what they had done last night was catching up to him.

"We both said a lot of things last night, Harry," she whispered, unable to make her voice any louder, the words wanting to stick in the back of her throat, but knowing that if she didn't say anything now, it would all be over, that they would never have the conversation. "And if you aren't sure what you want now, I understand. You've got an entirely different brain powering your mind now, with all different hormones and you're basically a different person. But I want you to know, I meant everything I said. I meant it then, and I mean it now, even if I am a different person. I don't have any regrets about last night, and I hope you don't either. If you don't want this anymore, if you don't know what you want anymore, take all the time you need to figure it out. Because I meant it when I said that I want you to do what will make you happy, be with someone who makes you happy, and not just because it's what people expect you to do. You're my best friend, Harry, and what happened last night, what we do now, nothing will ever change that."

As her rambling speech drifted to a close, a silence fell between them, and the moment stretched out, seemingly forever. Just as Hermione began to grow nervous, his hand found hers under the sheets, and intertwined their fingers before squeezing hard.

"There's just one problem, Hermione," he said, his voice also a whisper. "Last night did change things, it changed everything for me. I know what I want now, what I need to be happy. I think I always knew, I just wasn't willing to admit it, I was too scared of losing you as a friend." He leaned in closer to her. "It's you."

"Is that Harry saying that, or Jane?" she asked him, a smile on her lips neither of them could see with how they were staring into each other's eyes. She closed the gap further, until she could feel his breath on her face.

"It's me saying it," he answered. "To you. No matter what faces we wear." And, simultaneously, they both leaned in the last stretch between them, kissing. It grew more passionate and intense, until finally they broke apart for air.

"Good answer," Hermione told him. "Hopefully you have an equally good one to this question." She saw his eyebrows lift up quizzically, and felt a smirk lift up the corners of her lips. "Are you ready for another round? Because I'm looking forward to being on the other side this time."

"Always."


End file.
